One Night with Sole Regret 03 Take Me (19 page)

Shit, none of it
would be easy
,
b
ut Owen was right
:
e
veryone was stressed out
by
the constant strife between Shade and Adam. Shade promised himself that he would
n’t
blow up the next time Adam did something selfish and inconsiderate. They were in an endless loop of animosity
,
and one of them had to step up and break the cycle.
He wouldn’t
argue with Adam anymore
;
he
couldn’t
control
another man’s
actions. Shade
wondered
how long he’d be able to remember that.

“I hope you’re all rested up for tonight,” Owen said.

“I have plenty of energy left for the concert.”
But not an ounce extra.
Amanda had been amazing. She’d taken everything he was willing to give. Most of his lovers made him stop before he was truly satisfied because he wore them out.

“And the sex club afterwards. Don’t forget about that.”

Shade’s nose crinkled. There was no way in hell he would be in the mood to hook up with some stranger that night. Not after he’d had such a wonderful time with someone who mattered to him.

“I’m not going,” Shade said. “Not in the mood.”

“What? Are you fucking kidding me? First Gabe and then Adam and now
you’re
swearing off perfectly good pussy
?
What is
wrong
with you guys?”

“I don’t know about them, but my dick needs a few days to recover.”

“Since when?”

“Drop it, Owen. I’m not going.”

“At least I still have Kellen,” Owen grumbled.

“You two will have more fun without me. You know I’m the biggest pussy magnet in the group. You might get to hook-up with someone half-way attractive if I’m not there stealing all the hotties.” Shade somehow managed not to laugh as he taunted Owen.

Owen punched him in the arm and hit a curb with the front passenger-side tire. He returned the Jeep to his lane
,
managing not to hit any pedestrians in the process. “Bullshit, Silverton. I’m the biggest pussy magnet in the group.”

“Yeah,” Shade said with a hearty chuckle, “if you like cougars.”

“I do like cougars.” Owen grinned deviously. "They’re not afraid to sharpen their claws on my back.”

“To each his own,” h
e said.
Shade
had an unnaturally strong attraction to smart chicks. Well, one in particular. He was glad he’d done the wrong thing, gone against every shred of his common sense, and asked Amanda to see him again. Now he had something to look forward to all week.

“That I-got-laid smile of yours looks fucking ridiculous,” Owen said, rolling his eyes skyward.

“You’re just jealous.” And he had every reason to be. Shade would have to play this thing with Amanda by ear
,
one day—one night—at a time, but for the first time in forever, he had hope that he might be able to make a relationship work.

Assuming the woman in question wanted him as much as he wanted her.

“Jeez, will you stop smiling like that,” Owen said
.
“
Y
ou
’
r
e
starting to worry me.”

Shade should probably be worried how his decision to pursue Amanda would
complicate
his life, but he was too happy to care.

“Shut up and drive, Owen. We have a concert to get to.”

Everything else would sort itself out with time.
He didn’t have to be a genius to figure that out
.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I’d like to thank Wendy Christy for being the most faithful of beta readers and Beth Hill for her fabulous editing skills. Thanks ladies for helping me make this a better story.

I also want to offer a shout out to all of my fans for the encouragement
and support
. I hope you
’re
enjoy
ing the guys of Sole Regret. Next up is Owen in
Touch Me
. Can he
help a recent divorcee regain her sexual self-confidence
?
I think he might.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Combining her love for romantic fiction and rock 'n roll, Olivia Cunning writes erotic romance centered
around
rock musicians. Raised on hard rock music from the cradle, she attended her first Styx concert at age six and fell instantly in love with live music. She's been known to travel over a thousand miles just to see a favorite band in concert. As a teen, she discovered her second love, romantic fiction -- first, voraciously reading steamy romance novels and then penning her own. She recently sold her snow shovel and moved from Nebraska to Galveston, Texas.
She loves to spend time
on the
beach with her feet in the surf
writing about naughty rock stars.

Keep reading for an excerpt from Olivia Cunning’s erotic romance series, Lover’s Leap.

Taken from the novella

Loving on Borrowed Time

Lovers’ Leap (Book 1)

by Olivia Cunning

All rights reserved

Chapter 1

L
ara stood before the
Artifacts of Ancient Egypt
case and admired her handy work. She’d toiled over this particular display and it showed. The intact pieces of pottery, jewelry, tools, mummified cat, and other ancient Egyptian objects had been arranged to draw interest. Small cards, signifying months of work, displayed the name, date and a brief history of each item. Still, Lara couldn’t help but feel something was missing. The pieces in the collection were diverse and in remarkable condition, but none were particularly exciting. Lara longed to take an expedition and search for artifacts herself. She’d always pictured herself creeping through crypts, touring tombs, discovering digs and pondering pyramids, but her existence as a museum curator wasn’t very Indiana Jones. Her life in no way resembled what she’d envisioned for herself back in college. She’d experienced no adventure since graduating. No adventure at all.

Lara caught movement out of the corner of her eye and whirled around. She expected to see Tim, the night watchman, standing there leering at her as he was wont to do, but this man was not Tim. This man was young, virile, and had the oddest expression on his handsome face as he stared at her. He looked like he knew a thing or two about adventure. The guy was so masculine it should be a crime. Just ogling him made Lara’s toes curl in her sensible pumps. He was about average in height, but there wasn’t anything else average about him. The black tank top he wore drew all the right attention (
hers
) to his sculpted arms and chest, narrow waist and,
em
, belt. A tribal design had been inked on his right shoulder and he had
bad boy
tattooed across his forehead. Not really, but he might as well have. As handsome as he was, with his even features, penetrating, hazel-green eyes, and strong, kissable lips, Lara avoided bad boys as a rule. Bad boys broke hearts. Not that she knew that from experience or anything.

The nameless hunk watched her for a moment, and then bit his lip and jammed his hands into the pockets of his baggie, cargo pants.

“How did you get in here?” Lara asked. “The museum closed three hours ago.”

“That’s not important,” he said. “I need to talk to you, Lara.”

Her brow knotted. Did she know him? It wasn’t possible. She’d have remembered him. He had the looks of a movie star and the presence of warrior.
And the body of an underwear model.
Not that she was still checking him out or anything. Okay, she was. Why, oh why, couldn’t nice guys be this hot?

“How do you know my name?” she managed to ask.

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes strangely damp, and then glanced down at her chest.
Yo
, stud muffin, my eyes are approximately fifteen inches
North
.

“Lara Kensington,” he read aloud, “Museum Curator.”

She followed his line of vision to her nametag, affixed to the jacket lapel of her conservative, tan, skirt suit. She didn’t quite believe that was how he knew her name—he looked at her with such familiarity and longing—but there were more important things going on here. How in the hell had he gotten past security? Was he a burglar?
A kidnapper?
Her heart raced with excitement.
Dread?
Yeah, dread. Her heart raced with dread.

Lara glanced at the alarm panic button behind him, knowing it was her duty to call for help.

He grinned. “You aren’t thinking of setting off the alarm, now, are you?”

Well, she wouldn’t be getting the award for “Most Subtle in a Crisis” this year. Perhaps, if she distracted him, she could reach the alarm.

“Who are you?” she asked.

That sad look again, as if it hurt him that she didn’t know who he was. Was he some sort of ego maniac? She pictured him wearing a t-shirt that read:
My reputation doth precede me
.

“My name is Reece Jericho. I really need to talk to you. It pertains to your impending murder.”

She hadn’t recovered from discovering who he was, before he hit her with that second whammy. She gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

He chuckled. “You always were adorable when unsettled.”

“You’re planning to kill me?” she squeaked. Reece Jericho—famed artifact and treasure hunter—was a killer? She’d been trying to contact him to purchase artifacts for months and he hadn’t had the decency to return her inquiries until now. He finally shows up and comes up with some crazy story about her
impending
murder? What was his game? Did he think she’d pay more for his junk
...
Her eyes drifted below his waistband.
His
junk.
She shook her head at her errant thoughts. Did he think she’d pay more for his
artifacts
if she was freaked out?
Because she was about three seconds from completely freaking out.

His intense, hazel eyes widened, “Oh, God no, sweetheart, I’m here to save you before it happens.”

Her eyes moved to the alarm panic button again. Wait a minute. “Did you just call me
sweetheart
?”

“Forgive me. I keep forgetting that we haven’t met yet.”

“If you would be so kind as to make a damned bit of sense, I’d be much obliged, Mr. Jericho.”

“I’m from the future.”

She lifted both eyebrows at him. “You’re from the future,” she said in a flat tone. “I know a great psychiatrist, Jericho.
Specializes in serious nutcases.
I’ll get you her number.”

He shook his head. “We don’t have much time, Lara. He’ll be here soon.”

“This psychiatrist happens to be a woman.”

“Not a psychiatrist. Carl.”

Carl seemed like the least of her problems at the moment. Reece Jericho was obviously unsettled. She needed to keep him talking until she could pull the alarm. Maniacs liked to talk about their nefarious plans, right? She’d seen a superhero movie or two. “Let’s start with this murder thing,” she suggested. “How do you know I’m going to be murdered?”

His voice was raw when he said, “Because, I found you.
Dead.”

He pulled his hand out of the pocket of his tan cargo pants and drew out a folded piece of newspaper. He bit his lip, before handing her the clipping. She took it from him, her heart thudding unexpectedly at their close proximity.
Lovely, just lovely.
She had the
hots
for a psycho. He smelled good, too.
Just a hint of aftershave and a heap of male.
Why, oh why, couldn’t nice
guys
smell this good? Nice,
sane
guys. Her eyes met his
and time seemed to stop for a moment. The man should hand out drool bibs as a courtesy to the dry-clean-only wardrobes of unsuspecting women. My God, he was gorgeous. Dark hair, just long enough to make her want to lose her fingers in it.
Hazel eyes that missed nothing.
And when he chewed on his lip like that, it made her think it must be pretty tasty. She wouldn’t mind a sample or two. Too bad he was
flippin
’ crazy!

Lara forced herself to look away, the worn clipping in her hand demanding her attention. She read the headline and it nearly tossed her on her fanny.
Curator Found Dead in Museum Parking Garage.
Beside the text of the article was a picture of her that she didn’t recognize. In it, she was posing with none other than Reece Jericho and looked happier than Mrs. Smith at a pie-eating competition.